


The Birthday of a Pirate

by StarlightAndFireflies



Series: The Heart of a Pirate [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Birthday Party, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Pirates, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 23:26:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17334359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightAndFireflies/pseuds/StarlightAndFireflies
Summary: Months after the destruction of Moriarty, the crew of theZephyrusdecide to throw Sherlock a birthday party. One shot set after the events ofThe Heart of a Pirate.





	The Birthday of a Pirate

**Author's Note:**

> This short fic was originally a part of chapter five of _The Heart of a Pirate_ , but I ended up cutting it. However, I recently stumbled across it again and decided to clean it up (a lot). Though this is now set after the story, I don't think you need to read that to understand this. You can if you want, of course. I won't stop you.
> 
> Also, this is a little slapdash since I started working on it just today, so apologies in advance if it's got issues.

Winter in the Atlantic proved to be intense. More than one storm sent the _Zephyrus_ rocking, blown far off course. Hours passed when the crew didn’t see the sun, blocked as it was by clouds and rain. Other times, the ocean went eerily still, so that everyone peered over the railing with worry.

But John Watson loved every second of it.

Months now, he’d been on board this ship, as its captain, fully free of his past.

Well, almost.

There was, after all, his co-captain, who seemed hellbent on driving John mad. With worry, that is.

Sherlock Holmes routinely forgot to eat, conducted strange experiments in the cabin he shared with John, and insisted the _Zephyrus_ go after some of the most dangerous targets in the oceans: slave ships, the East India Company, and anyone who helped them.

Seeing him so fanatical, focused, determined, was exhilarating. John loved watching Sherlock in action, even if the nights he slipped away to sneak onto enemy ships at port caused nightmares to swirl before John’s closed eyelids.

Other than that, John loved his new life. He loved what he had with his pirate, and their ship.

“Sherlock,” he called one afternoon, as he dashed into the captains’ cabin and found his curly-haired lover bent over the desk, an array of papers scattered everywhere and the scent of gunpowder permeating the space. He’d rushed in here after hearing an alarming bang. “What the hell are you doing?”

Sherlock whirled, a slightly guilty look on his sooty face. “Nothing.”

“Right,” John raised an eyebrow at him. “Clearly.”

He turned and poked his head out, looking to where Irene, Molly, and Sholto were looking at him with concern. “He’s fine,” he told them. “Just experimenting.”

“Of course he is,” Molly rolled her eyes, though she smiled in relief. Irene huffed and strode off, now that the apparent threat was gone. “Tell him to keep it down. Wiggins is still sleeping off that fever.”

“Wish me luck with that,” he chuckled, then retreated into the room, closing the door behind him.

“This is important work, John,” Sherlock grumbled as he turned back to his work. “I’m attempting to develop a way to suppress the sound of a gunshot.”

“Congratulations,” John muttered wryly. He strode forward, examining the cabin for damage. Other than the papers pinned on the walls and strewn across the floor, and the thick scent of powder, nothing seemed harmed. At least Sherlock had shot through the open window, and not into the hull. “I don’t think it’s working.”

“Yet!”

“What would be the point of that? When we board the ships, the point is to fire a warning shot, isn’t it?”

“I’m not going to use it when we board,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “But when I sneak onto ships in ports, it could come in handy.”

“You go on them to sabotage them, to sink them!” John protested. “You don’t need to fire a gun!”

“But what if someone’s on board? Often they don’t leave their vessels unattended, even before they take on their ‘cargo,’ after all,” Sherlock said, tracing exaggerated, derisive quotation marks in the air with his fingers. “If I’m caught, and I have to shoot one of those… creatures,” he nose crinkled, clearly thinking of slave traders. “I’d rather have time to get off the ship and back here.”

John swallowed. “I still don’t like you going in alone.”

“I’ve done it a dozen times now,” Sherlock shrugged. “I’ve been fine.”

“Yeah, except the time you got keelhauled by your nemesis.”

“That happened _once_!”

John couldn’t help but chuckle and laid back on the bed. “Yeah, you’re welcome for that rescue, by the way.”

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at him, smirking. “Haven’t I thanked you enough over the past months?”

“No.” John winked. He stretched out just slowly enough for it to be obviously deliberate.

A glint sparked to life in Sherlock’s eyes. “Oh,” he murmured, his voice an octave lower. “Is that so?”

“It is,” John replied with a grin.

“Hmm,” Sherlock frowned as if considering what to do, even as he rose from his chair and made his way toward the bed. “Well, I shall have to do something to make it up to you, won’t I?”

He crawled onto the bed and into John’s lap. “My hero,” he murmured, smiling.

“That’s a start,” John laughed, before he reached up and pulled Sherlock into a deep kiss.

 

* * *

 

Later, John sat in the galley with Sholto, Ekene, and Molly. Sherlock had disappeared a while ago, after just a few bites, citing that he’d had a burst of inspiration while in bed with John and he had to write down his idea. John had blushed while the others laughed.

“Did he say what I think he did?” Ekene had asked. Sherlock, in his haste, had abandoned his usual awareness and neglected to sign his words for the man, or to face him fully.

John groaned in embarrassment as the other two had burst into more laughter. Sholto had signed an affirmative for Ekene, who also chuckled.

“Quiet,” John protested. “I’m your captain, after all.”

Molly giggled. “Sorry, John.”

He only swigged more rum, trying not to smile. Truly, he didn’t mind. This ship was far more casual in the division between captains and crew, and Sherlock could be much more embarrassing. Such as the time he had declared his love for John in front of everyone, a burning ship on the horizon serving as their backdrop.

“I see you’re treating your pirate well, Watson,” Irene’s voice came from behind. John turned to find her strolling in, her long hair loose around her shoulders. Kate was at her side, and both women joined them.

“Shut up, Adler,” he said good naturedly.

“Well, it is the day for it,” she said.

He frowned. “What do you mean?” What was she implying?

She raised her eyebrows. “It’s Sherlock’s birthday.”

Now, John was used to feeling unsteady; he did live on a ship, after all. He did not, however, expect to feel as if the floor were rocking at this particular moment.

“It… _what_?”

How could he not know this? He’d known Sherlock for long enough now, so why did he not know the man’s day of birth? (Granted, he wasn’t sure what day this exactly was, having lost count a few weeks ago, but nevertheless.)

“Yes, the sixth of January,” Irene nodded. “I keep track of the days just so I can torment Sherlock with it. He doesn’t like to publicize it, but I assumed he told you.”

“He didn’t,” John murmured.

“Oh.” A smirk alit on her face. “Interesting.”

Sholto eyed her. “What are you thinking, Irene?”

“Nothing,” she waved a hand, even while smirking. “Just that this could be very fun.”

“Irene,” John grinned. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

She beamed wickedly. “Indeed, Captain Watson. A party. Specifically, a dance. It’s been ages since we had one, and besides, everyone’s restless lately. There’s only so long pirates can go without something to distract them.”

 

* * *

 

A short while later, John hurried back to the captains’ cabin and knocked. “Is it safe to come in? Or will I risk being shot?”

“Enter,” came Sherlock’s amused voice. “I wouldn’t shoot my co-captain, particularly if you’re here for another round.”

John’s face heated as he stepped inside. “Not just now.”

“Oh, never mind then, get out,” Sherlock dismissed, though John could see his teasing expression. John just shook his head and approached, draping his arm around Sherlock’s shoulders.

“You need a break, my love,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the messy curls.

“I’m almost finished—”

“It’s not time sensitive,” John said. “Come outside.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to, and besides you’ve not had fresh air all day.”

“We live on a ship, John. Isn’t all the air fresh? It isn’t as if this space is airtight.”

John leaned down and traced down Sherlock’s cheek with his lips. “I’ll make it worth it.”

Sherlock shivered slightly, and John grinned, triumphant. “Oh, alright then. Just for a while.”

He rose and set aside some papers, then followed John out hand in hand.

Up on the deck, Sherlock stuttered to a halt, staring around him. “John, what—”

The crew, led by Irene, had transformed the deck. They’d dropped anchor, so the ship seemed to be floating on the sky, with the stars reflected in this the water all around them. Candles on railings and stairs bathed the ship in flickering golden light, which bounced off the sails. The breeze, fortunately, was light, but John knew they’d have to monitor the flames should the weather change. Sholto and Ekene had brought rum and wine, and some meats and fruits they’d stored belowdecks. And Kitty Winter had brought out a wooden flute, handing a drum to Wiggins, who had recovered from his fever enough to join the festivities.

“John?” Sherlock asked, his voice low. “What is all this?”

John grinned and squeezed his hand. “Happy birthday, Sherlock.”

The phrase was echoed by the rest of the crew, and John watched in satisfaction as a slight glow bloomed across Sherlock’s cheeks.

“Come on then!” Irene called. Judging from the pink in her cheeks, John suspected she’d already started in on the drinks. “Let’s dance!”

The crew laughed and cried out in agreement, and the music started up. Their footsteps, moving to the beat, reverberated through the ship’s deck.

John turned to face Sherlock. “I hope this is alright.”

Sherlock inclined his head, his smile tipping toward shy. “It is. Irene knows I love dancing.”

“I didn’t know that,” John breathed. He couldn’t deny that was adorable, though.

“I’ve always loved it,” Sherlock said.

“Well, come on then,” John tugged him forward. “Dance with me, Captain Holmes.”

Sherlock bit his lip, looking pleased as they moved to the center of the deck. “With pleasure, Captain Watson.”

John pulled his pirate close, spinning him around, feeling the man’s laughter against his own chest.

 

* * *

 

They danced through three songs, before at last, they staggered to the side, gasping for breath and through laughter. John got them both wine, then promptly ignored its presence in favor of kissing Sherlock, who looked just too tantalizing with his windswept hair and pink cheeks.

“You’re amazing,” John breathed against his lips. “You constantly surprise me.”

Sherlock tugged him closer, chest still heaving from exertion. “You’re the amazing one, John.”

“Nonsense.”

Before Sherlock could reply, Irene darted over, and they broke apart. “Alright, mon capitans?”

“Fine,” Sherlock huffed, immediately affecting an irritated tone that neither one of the others believed.

Irene only smirked and slung an arm around John’s waist. “Enjoying yourselves?”

“Maybe,” Sherlock muttered, flashing her a dark look now. John couldn’t decide if it was because of her teasing, innuendo-laced tone, or her proximity to John.

She laughed airily. “Come on, Sherlock. Don’t kill the mood. Now come on, are you going to treat us to your secret talent?”

John glanced at his lover, who was shuffling his feet and whose gaze was now fixed upon the deck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” she pleaded. “Yes you do, and just because you’re self-conscious about it doesn’t mean you aren’t fantastic at it.”

“Sorry,” John cut in. “But… what are we talking about?”

“Just…” Sherlock swallowed. “Something I used to do quite regularly as a youth. But I haven’t done it in years,” he added to Irene.

“No,” she frowned. “You did a year and a half ago. Remember, in that inn in Singapore?”

“Only after you practically forced three drinks into me,” Sherlock groused. “It probably sounded horrendous.”

“It did not,” Irene said, then tilted her head, considering. “Well, maybe it could have been better, but…”

“ _What_ could have been better?” John asked, exasperated.

Irene cocked her head in Sherlock’s direction. “Well, are you going to show him? Or do I have to go fetch more alcohol?”

Sherlock snorted. “Not necessary.” His gaze landed, and lingered, on John. “Oh, alright. Fine.”

“Yes!” Irene dashed off.

“Do you even know where it is?” Sherlock called after her.

“Obviously!”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course she does.”

“Where what is?” John asked.

Sherlock reached for his wine glass and downed half of it in one go. “You’ll see in a moment. Though I can’t promise it will be any good.”

Perplexed, John leaned against the railing. Sherlock finished his wine, set the empty glass down, then pecked John’s cheek. He made his way to the musicians, just as Irene re-emerged from belowdecks. In her arms she clutched a leather case. She crossed the deck to Sherlock, who took it from her and opened it.

From inside, he lifted out a violin.

Had John been drinking at that moment, he’d have spit out the wine all over the floor.

Sherlock gazed down at the violin. Seeming resigned, he twisted the pegs and gave a few experimental plucks, right next to his ear. Then, as the current song ended, Sherlock lifted the instrument to his shoulder and launched into a song. Winter grinned at him and joined in with her flute, Wiggins sitting back to listen, the drum silent between his legs. After a moment though, as Sherlock seemed to find the tempo he desired, Wiggins joined in too.

In response, the crew cheered, feet stamping and pounding to the beat of Sherlock’s bright music. It was joyous, rapid, passionate. John’s foot tapped, and he beamed over at his lover.

God, would this man never stop astonishing him? He hoped not.

Sherlock paid no one any mind, eyes closed in concentration. In that moment, pale orange firelight illuminating his strange, marvelous face, his hands shaping a song of the sea, he was John’s entire world.

 

* * *

 

The moon hovered high above by the time the crew tired enough to retreat below. Empty bottles and half-melted candles littered the deck, and the rum-sleepy voices of men and women murmured and giggled as they headed off for sleep.

John bid Ekene and Sholto, the last two to depart, goodnight with a smile and quick series of signs, then turned as a hand tugged him around. He spun to face Sherlock, whose enchanting steely eyes seemed all the more potent after the bottle of wine John had helped Ekene finish, enraptured all the while by his pirate across the deck. Now, he let Sherlock pull him into his arms and drag him back to their cabin.

“I didn’t know you played violin,” he said, voice low.

Sherlock nodded as he nestled the instrument back in its case. “As I said, it’s been ages since I’ve done so. Did… did you enjoy it?”

John only moved close and whispered his reply directly onto Sherlock’s lips once the man straightened up. “I loved it.” He pulled back and regarded his lover. “Why don’t you play regularly anymore?”

Sherlock shrugged. “There’s not much need on the open seas for music.”

“Sure there is. This is so far from civilization,” John countered. “If anything, we need it more out here.”

Sherlock pursed his lips, gaze trained downward. “It also reminds me of my father. He taught me.”

“Oh,” John breathed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Sherlock shook his head. “He’d be pleased I still remember how to play.” His forehead furrowed, thoughtful. “Perhaps I should continue. He’d like that.”

John stroked his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. “Whatever you like. You’re extraordinary.”

Sherlock chuckled softly. “You’d say that anyway.”

“I would, but only because you are,” John popped up on his toes, and kissed the tip of Sherlock’s nose.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and playfully shoved John away. John stumbled away — it seemed that last glass hadn’t been an entirely wise decision — and made his way to the bed, shrugging off his shirt. He heard Sherlock’s satisfied noise, and knew he was being ogled.

“Well, come on then,” he gestured.

Sherlock clambered in next to him, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “Thank you for today. Even if it’s partly Irene’s fault.”

John chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

They lay in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of the sea. Then, Sherlock spoke again.

“Do you enjoy life here?”

John peered down at him. He knew sometimes Sherlock needed reassurance, having never had a love like this, but it always came at unexpected moments. And seeing his lover let his guard down in such a way was almost heartbreaking; he wished Sherlock could believe he deserved John’s love.

“Of course I do,” John whispered.

“Because I know it’s not what you planned for your life,” Sherlock said hastily, lifting his head to stare at John, eyes wide. “You were a captain in the Royal Navy with your own ship, and now you’re a pirate. And you have to share your leadership, and—”

“Sherlock,” John said, voice sharp, though he was fighting the urge to smile. “I thought we’ve been over this. I love what we do, I love this ship, and this crew, and you. For three years, all I wanted was to be back on your ship with you. Hell, I’d swab the decks if you wanted me to, as long as I could stay.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and John felt relieved to see the momentary vulnerability had faded. “Is that a euphemism?”

John stared, startled, for a moment, then burst into breathless giggles. Sherlock pressed his lips together, then broke down too. They clung to each other, laughing rather helplessly, until John at last forced himself to calm. He grinned at Sherlock, who beamed back.

“Do you want it to be a euphemism?” he teased.

Sherlock snickered, then kissed John in response. He moved with eager confidence again, the acute focus he so often trained upon his work now turned directly onto John.

“Happy birthday, dearest. I love you,” John whispered.

“And I you, John.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I bet you thought this AU was over. So did I, and yet here we are. I might come back periodically with short additions like this one. I can't promise anything though, as really, the main story has ended and I have enough other story ideas as it is without adding more pirate fics. But who knows? You might see more of pirates!Sherlock and John, or not. Either way, thanks for reading!


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